the practicality of it all
by ScribeOfRED
Summary: Enemy base infiltration with a certain Miss Highwind doesn't go the way Ignis expects.


**A wonderful Carbuncle wanted Highspecs and 49 from a prompt list on tumblr. The following cheesy goodness was terribly fun to write.**

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Sneaking into the Aracheole Stronghold again isn't nearly as difficult as Ignis expects it to be. Maybe it's because he's been here before, or maybe it's because a certain Miss Highwind has tagged along, entirely confident she knows how to find the paperwork that's apparently stashed away here.

Or maybe it's easy because there are only a few guards patrolling, human and rather lazy according to their initial reconnaissance. Slipping past them has been almost enjoyable.

"Left here," Aranea hisses, and left they go, diving into a shadowy room that might have once housed an office. Now it's mostly abandoned, dust limning the few shelves and empty desks pushed to the outer edges of the room.

It's beneath one of the higher shelves they duck—with moments to spare before a flashlight beams across the room as one of the guards peers through the window set in the door. Ignis instinctively holds his breath, pressing his shoulders a bit harder into the wall, as though it will allow him to vanish completely. Beside him, Aranea has gone still as she no doubt watches the light as it creeps closer... closer...

—and then it swings away, illuminating the other half of the office before vanishing completely, but it isn't until heavy footsteps vanish down the hall that either of them dares move, slow, deep breaths that swirl the dust hanging heavy in the air.

"Told you he was moving faster than the others," she says sotto voce as she steps out from under the protection of the shelf.

"I believe you'll find I never disagreed," he replies, dusting his hands off on his trousers as he follows her, relieved to be able to straighten to his full height again.

"Uh-huh, sure." She turns in a circle, examining the room. Since she isn't wearing her gleaming silver armor, her eyes catch the light easier, and though he doesn't stare, he's reasonably certain he's never seen her eyes this bright before, sparkling with... what? Mischief? Amusement? The thrill of avoiding the guards?

For all he knows people, he finds it difficult to accurately guess anything about her, so he pushes the thought aside. "Where are we off to next?"

"Oh, we've reached our destination." She motions him closer before pointing toward a lump of furniture that somehow looks heavier than King Regis's enormous, imposing desk of polished stone and wood that sits—sat in his ceremonial office.

He ignores the stinging memory with a recently cultivated ease as he joins her. "Well, it certainly looks like this beastly desk will survive even if the base falls around it."

For all her laugh is quiet, it somehow rings all the truer, and he finds himself smiling as she tips her head in acquiescence. "Oh, definitely. That's why they put it here." She pushes her foot under the edge of the desk, boot exploring beneath it.

 _Tap_.

 _Tap_.

 _Tap_.

 _Tunk_.

One brow lifts at the different sound; it lifts higher when she turns to him with what's most certainly a grin. "Pay dirt."

"I'm not sure I—"

" _Shh_."

Maybe it's because they've spent an evening working together, or maybe it's because of some instinct of his own, but he falls silent, following her wide-eyed gaze to the door in time to see a bobbing light through the little grated window. And unless he's severely mistaken, it's getting bigger. Fast.

No time to duck for the shelf that saved them last time. They're definitely going to be caught—

"Trust me," she tells him, a single moment before her hand closes around his collar and she drags him forward. A nifty bit of footwork he'll have to compliment her on later and he's pushed into the very dusty desk, though the mess seems inconsequential when her long, lithe body's presses against him and a pair of surprisingly soft lips cover his.

" _Mmm_ —"

Her hand gives his shirt a little shake; her eyes, so close to his, spark a warning she can't speak. He doesn't think he's imaging the way he can feel her heartbeat, definitely doesn't imagine the way it's racing away under his palm when he rests his hand along her jaw. He can't quite help himself, fingers guided by some instinct he didn't know he had into tilting her head back a bit farther until they just... fit together, like he never thought possible.

It's glorious, exhilarating, so wrong but so right.

From the corners of his eyes, he can see the way the light is sweeping across the room again, casting shadows across one side of Aranea's face, then the other, illuminating dust motes into drops of gold across her skin, and he's only half thinking about the way an alarm is going to sound and MTs are going to descend upon their location like locust.

Instead, there's a muffled grunt, some comment about slacking off, then the light vanishes again, leaving them to slowly pull away, dusty breaths mingling as they pant softly against one another's lips.

"Oh," she says, quiet, like she's come to a sudden and very personal revelation.

"Um," he says, because he can't manage anything more eloquent, not when he can still feel her skin under his fingers.

This is not what they came here to do. _Definitely_ not what they came here to do—there are files to find, right, he needs to... to not let this distract him. But letting her go is still quite possibly one of the hardest things he's ever had to do, and he dares to presume she's thinking something similar as she uncurls her fingers from his collar and takes a half step away.

"Mm. Right. So. There's a trap door under here, the files are in a reinforced cellar. We need to move this ridiculous desk out of the way and get to it."

Back to business. It's so like her, so like _him_ , but this... this needs something more. Some kind of follow-up. "Miss Highwind—"

She shoots him a look as sharp as the business end of her lance as she grabs the edge of the desk, but somehow there's a softness to her eyes that warms him from the inside out. "Assuming the guards stick to their schedule, we have exactly two minutes and twelve seconds until the next one checks this room. I don't think that little ploy will hold up a second time. Later, Specs."

Ah. Of course. He nods and turns to add his hands to the task before them. They have information to obtain—talking about... recent events will have to wait.

And maybe, a tiny, hopeful, _traitorous_ part of him can't help thinking, maybe they'll be able to repeat recent events too, hopefully without the added stress of sneaking their way around an imperial base.


End file.
